Thanks Daznov It's really sad to write a poem like Chavtown, but unfortunately it's based on the truth.

Great cat write Frank I love the sloping image you created too

the return

She came back unexpected
Like shimmering dawn mist,
What chance brought and selected
The one I can't resist?

When she dreams in the dew-time
The heart feels something more,
Her warmth enhanced the new time
Then opened my soul's door.

In silent fields she ponders,
This fragile mystic dove
And everywhere she wanders
She leaves a trace of love.


©

A piercing indictment of modern Britain, written skilfully as usual Musty.
As you say, quite a depressing read but searingly honest.






Love the metaphor in this one Musty, excellent stuff.

Thanks Troy You're up early I like your Services BTW

My second cat, a beloved friend of sixteen years, passed today. All pet lovers know how unbelievably sad it is to lose one. Through tears and coming to terms with the loss, I wrote this for Fluff - I think it helped me.

the cat II

Goodbye my pet, goodbye,
I knew that I would cry,

So heavy was the task
That left me here to ask
Why was your time so swift
And why won't heartache lift?

Yet I console myself
For you gave me such wealth,

And now you've gone away
To join the golden way
Where other cats all play.

As I recall the purr,
The warming coat of fur
Know this, that since the end
You're missed my lovely friend.


©

[quote=mr. mustard;49314355]My second cat, a beloved friend of sixteen years, passed today. Quote.>
As I recall the purr,
The warming coat of fur
Know this, that since the end
You're missed my lovely friend.

All I can say is that's sad Musty, having lost 3 over the years I can relate, good tribute, cathartic in the writing I'm sure. Frank

A poignant poem, sorry to hear that news Musty.

That's so sad, I hope the poem gives you some comfort

Thanks so much everyone. It's been a very sad day but I know she's in a better place now, enjoying a peaceful and beautiful sleep.

the wind is a friend

The wind is a friend, so it's been
Since my childhood when breezes first flew
Invisible over the green,
With a mystical manner it blew
Throughout hollows and made the trees lean,
My capricious companion unseen.

A sigh where the lost lovers lay
And a shout as storm forces ascend,
The witness where moorland ghosts play,
Different guises that alter and blend
Like fresh hope on a hot summer's day,
These you find when the wind is your friend.


©

Marvelous stuff Musty, some excellent alliteration here.

Thanks Troy The final version of the poem's slightly different but I was happy to let this one stay as it is on DS

I am never mendacious
I would never tell one lie
I can easily be fallacious
Though if I really really try
I'm a politician believe me
Look in my ray-banned eye
I've a felicity to convince
I'm a genuine kind of guy
True and honest as my rinse

Waiver.

These hours of ours.
These days and years.

Some ways occurs.

To play again the game of chance,
within the vain of some advance.
As if to try make no mistake.

As to compile is to make.

While outwardly so spick and trim.
A trick of time upon a whim.
A notion of a future age.

Emotional, this new young sage.

Much further then? As pain returns.

Ask any men which sadness burns
brightest in all Christendom.

Make null and void addendum.

Is it not a poet's prerogative to lie Frank? In the third person of course and only when the lie adds to some other quality of the work.

Not all of my rhymes are true.

Sorry about the cat Musty. I've loved and buried a few. I won't 'entertain' another.

I enjoyed this one Frank and you've thrown up another thread coincidence

Thanks Archiver Another fascinating poem BTW

Praise Be To The Loyal Forces (a politician's tribute)

Praise be to the loyal forces!
Thank heavens for the things they do,
Thank the Navy, RAF
And the Army facing death,
Risking life and limb for me and you.

You'd think we would pay a ransom,
That we'd value the dogs of war,
No more Jump Jet Harriers
Or aircraft carriers,
We don't supply a lot to any corps.

For you see, in our economics
Bullets don't rate highly on the scale,
Nor do steady wings or anchors
Yet we still allow the bankers
To take bonuses beyond the pale.

But praise be to the loyal forces!
When a difficulty does arise,
Educating the Islamic
That democracy is karmic
Needs some muscle, not a compromise.

Though the price is the highest ever
We're glad the ranks accept their fates,
While we sit here camouflaging
Yellow backs they're happy charging
Off for Queen & country with their mates.

And we read out the names in the Commons
And we comment on their tender years,
Over every wounded column
We act genuinely solemn
For a crocodile has endless tears.

Praise be to the loyal forces
Who fight without complaint or any fuss,
Dying designates the glory
To the Labour, Lib and Tory,
What a waste but pin the medals onto us.


©

The whole setup horrifies me, Musty. I've started to invent diversionary tactics when I switch the news on. I know Britain appears to have been a warlike nation in the past, but I'm sure most people don't want it to continue.

I can't help thinking of how they villified poor Gordon Brown - well now they're finding out what it feels like.

Now where are all the poets when they're needed? And I know it's Troy's day off today!!!

The invasions of Afghanistan & Iraq were, rightly or wrongly, fought as a reaction to 9/11. Blair, Brown & Cameron all supported it and thankfully the latter's going to end the Afghanistan campaign at last. Both countries now have democracies in place, but more recently Islamic African states have managed to overthrow their leaders without western help. Libya is a harder nut to crack and while I support any attempt to dislodge Gaddafi, I feel we've done more than enough elsewhere already. It's time for our governments to realize we're not a world power any more. The Empire's over and other nations have to solve their own problems - as we were allowed to throughout history. Things are healthier that way and it's not as if Hitler's on our doorstep Biz.

The poem vents my frustration at the continued loss of life we're suffering for a cause that not many care about within these shores.

A wonderful tribute Musty and a biting political satire to boot.




I am off today Biz, but I've been catching up on the Small Faces who I've developed a mini fascination with recently.

I'm sure Musty will forgive me.

I do agree with you that we should stop meddling in others' affairs.

I think a vast number of the silent majority agree with you about the waste of young lives but feel helpless to do anything about it.


Wow! You're going back in time, but as he's a music fan I'll hazard a guess that you're right.

wonders of the stone age

Let me shine revealing lamps
On the early causewayed camps,
Huge enclosures, earthern ramps.

Longbarrows that faced the east,
Fast arrows that felled the beast
Till a change that brewed like yeast.

Settling made the hunters see
Ways to eat and still be free,
Crops meant food and liberty.

Fledgeling farmers glad to sow,
Tales at home of friend and foe
Round the crackling hearth aglow.

Seasons held a sacred feel,
Consciousness becomes more real
When time is an endless wheel.

In the spiral of their lives
Rustling wheat cut short with scythes,
Beads for necks and flint for knives.

Answers would be wanted soon,
Reckoning the sun at noon,
Staring at the rising moon.

Ere the modern car and coin
From the Orkneys to the Boyne
Down to Kent all paths did join.

Birth and rebirth, dawns that drape
Joy across the ripe landscape
Made them focus on a shape;

Circles for the stone age creed,
Rings fulfilled their greatest need
And one henge was vast indeed;

Digging, straining hard to pull
Tons of stone to map it all,
Avebury, the capital.

Here the lengthy Ridgeway road
Ended at their motherlode
Where the megaliths were towed.

Contemplating nears and fars
Underneath a sea of stars,
Touching heaven's golden bars.

Would that I had been there too
With the ancient people who
Made these lands divine and true.


©

Thanks Troy You're forgiven Such a great band, one of my all-time favourites. I think I wrote a Small Faces poem for Part 2 of the thread

Blinding stuff Musty.





You've managed to incorporate several of the senses which makes the imagery exquisite.

Wonderful poem.

As for the Small Faces, yes, I remember your excellent tribute poem.

Such a shame about Steve Marriott; the 20th anniversary of his death is coming up soon and I've been feeling quite sad about it.

An interview from 1985:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HeT5nb3RqXI

Thing is I had nothing left about which to write
This itself would exercise my literary muscle
Serendipitous were it to cure a writing blight
Mere act of composition training for the tussle

Writer's block unlike a sculptor's one of stone
Is a mental lack of matter from which to chisel
Mind's tools blunt the need is sharp for honing
Each blank entered into seems bound to fizzle

Dry-gulched scribes seek any flow of inspiration
To stream in their uncreative desert of despond
Metaphorical acres of aridity require re-irrigation
A parched poet waits for their muse to respond

Frankly there is finally something in this that I penned
The truth that everything so long as started has to end

(Frank: my early Easter Sonnet)